Friday, September 19, 2014
Whoo-Hoo! It's A Wild Friday Night!
Uh. Not really.
I spent about forty-two hours in town today. At least that's what it seemed like. I went to Trader Joe's where I bought sweet potatoes and a red pepper and to TJ Maxx (which is not where the purse was, sorry, it was at Marshall's) and bought nothing there, and then to Steinmart where I bought Lily a birthday present and finally found a kitchen rug. See above.
I sent a picture of it to a friend. "Too much chicken?" I asked her.
"Mmmm. Yes." she answered.
Oh well. I bought it anyway. It is the right size, it will be easy to wash, it is colorful and it was cheap.
Let's see. Then I went to the liquor store where I saw a guy I've known forever and ever. I performed the wedding ceremony for him and his wife almost ten years ago at Wakulla Springs and they are still quite happily hitched and it was so good to see him.
After that I went to the library. And then to Marshall's with a fierce determination in my heart to just buy that fucking purse! Buy it! Fuck it! (Well, not literally.) Be crazy! Be wild! Do it!
The purse was gone. I am not kidding you.
All I could do was laugh.
I ducked into Michael's because I have this crazy notion of knitting a blanket and letting my wrist be numb and not even worrying about it. The potpourri almost knocked me out. I swear to god when the potpourri thing started happening about twenty years ago I thought that surely it would last a season or two.
Nope. Still happening.
I'd rather smell horseshit than potpourri. It gives me a headache and makes me want to break things.
Also? Michael's didn't have any decent yarn.
I got out of that place fast. To me, Michael's is like hell exploded and they made a store out of it. They have Christmas shit up already. Right alongside plaster Frankenstein heads you can buy and paint yourself for Halloween fun and frolic. Fuck them.
All right. While we're talking about this kind of thing, let me bring up the subject of pumpkin. All over the internets I read about how women (always women) are orgasming at Starbucks because the pumpkin latte is back. And there's pumpkin beer. And pumpkin-scented candles. And pumpkin I-don't-even-know-what and you know what? Pumpkin is fine in pumpkin pie. Pumpkin smells lovely when you carve a real one and stick a candle in it. Beyond that- NO! Jesus god. I thought of the first lines of a novel (which I will not write- feel free) which goes something like this:
Thomas stretched his legs out as he leaned back in the rocking chair on the wide front porch of his family's antebellum home, took a deep and appreciative sip of the bourbon in the thick, leaded crystal glass he held in his long, aristocratic fingers, flicked a piece of non-existent lint off the front of his pink cotton Polo shirt and said to his daddy, "Fall. The time of year when even Addison's farts smell like pumpkin."
Moving on. Jessie got the job. Are we surprised?
Three weeks. Three weeks and she and Vergil will be moving in. This is rather unbelievable. Oh, how I hope she and Vergil will be happy here. Vergil is leaving his home and loved ones, friends and childhood memories to come to Tallahassee and I so want him to be happy. We love him so.
Lily is still feeling like shit. I called her and her voice sounded so puny I thought it was Owen. Please may she feel better tomorrow.
When I was kissing Mr. Moon good-bye today I said, "You have a good time."
"You have a good time too," he said.
"Oh. I will. I'm going to buy tofu AND salmon," and we laughed and kissed a little more.
"Thank-you," he said, "for letting me be who I am."
"Thank-you," I answered, "for letting me be who I am."
I have salmon marinating in a soy-ginger sauce right now. The chickens have been put to bed, Missy carried in my arms like a baby from her nest, Butterscotch back on the roost with her sisters. The church next door is leaking gospel music from all the windows and doors, my air conditioner is rattling, my movie did not appear in my post office box, I am feeling less like someone who is cool and all sex-drugs-and-rock-and-roll and more like someone who might read in bed for hours and hours.
I spent forty-two or six hours in town today and I do not have to go back for days.
Agoraphobic? Nah, not really.
Love your house and yard so much you rarely feel the need to leave?
This is my life.
Love to all...Ms. Moon